Cause It's Not So Bad
by Fleetfoot
Summary: PG Spoilers for volume 1. Analysis of thougts of Naruto about his childhood, and how he has lived through it. Things you never realized the real deal inside. A collection of Memories. Multiple Oneshots
1. Rain

_The tears don't fall, _

_And I wonder why.._

_Why silence seems,_

_So,_

_Like Eternity.._

_And why,_

_I must bear,_

_It, pain... _

_(no hope echoes deep..)_

_Mingles with,_

_tears, rain-_

_Fall._

_Deep, _

_Dark,_

_Warm with cold,_

_Agony, slpinter,_

_Crakkle._

_Rage hides effective,_

_gloomy Friday_

_(no hope.. why so?)_

_Mask Me,_

_Cloak My,_

_Moi, me, Tu, him, son, his..._

_Identity/Identite._

* * *

And you all wonder why I laugh, I grin, I smile... Why I seem so innocent?

_Put your picture on my wall, 'cause it reminds me that it's not so bad.. _

At first, I tried ignoring all of those cold glares, the stabbing slithers behind my being, but they, no. You. _You_ wouldn't stop.

There were days where I would run. Run from me, them, everybody. I would try to detach from myself, but there was always that sparking, malvolent laughter inside of me that kept me, me. As much as I despised that I couldn't loose myself, as much as it tore me apart, I was always back together at the end.

There were days where I would lay down on the bed and sob all of my tears away, until there were none left to come. And then, my heart would cry because my eyes had given up.. As my soul was cracking too..

My fragile mirror, spattered with blood.

The soggy pillow would become a nightly occurence sometimes, when I could somehow hear my clock ticking out of synch with my heavy, harsh sobs and afterwards my sniffles, when I was too exhausted to get up to blow my nose. The warmth that my worn blanket would give, I could not feel it, no. The warnth was lost beneath the cold, because I was too.

The dark nowhere, needed much, numb but the ultimate torment...

_It hurts to me.._

My snotty, supposed-to-be-white t-shirt, my shorts covered in dirt from tripping, and my bloody knees scraped from my escape in the trees. No one wanted to play, at all, not with who their mummys and daddys said was a bad boy. Not that evil, demon, monster, thing,orphan,it,murdererevilmonsterthing!..

_me. _

Not playing, no toys, no books..

I don't wanna go to school in these mornings, these heart-heavy, colourless mornings. Especially the ones when I realized that it wouldn't be rainging lightly, where they would just leave me in peace.. Not like the other days where I would just wish to have an off switch, or a plug I could just pull.. Then I wonder what they would do.. Laugh?

Then was also the ones when I didn't dare ask.

But I didn't understand why they rebuffed me, and stomped down on my fragile confidence..

Until one day. When I had an idea..

When I just put on a smile and told me to be happy and grin at everyone. That it woud all end, and that I would get time to fill that hole back up with something new.. But for now, just hiding it would have to do.. I would have to put an empty happy in place, and so I did.

But then, I forgot that the lie was a lie.. I forgot what was supposed to be real, 'cause it had been so long, only glimpses of "real", but never the real thing.

I had managed to fool them all, but while they continued, I had managed to fool myself too..

I kept my silly grin plastered on, and bottled the sad away for later, only to forget it on a shelf...

Then, I tried a silly game. A prank, they called it, and a pranker they came to call me.

Then, they had a reason, and so had I.

Then, I could, and had made,

A reason:

_For them to hate me._

* * *

_The tears don't come, _

_And I wonder why,_

_Looking out of my window,_

_I see it all, Rain.._

_Even if I could,_

_It could all be great..._

_Put my picture on the wall,_

_'Cause it reminds me that it's not so bad,_

_It's not so bad,_

_It's not so bad at all..._


	2. Knowlege

Knowlege isn't Understanding.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and sit up, shivering at the coolness of my bedroom this morning. I didn't get to put the heating on until the middle of winter, when it was too cold to feel my blue-tinged toes, and when it took twice as long to get the hot water running in the shower. I snuggled into the coveres, and buried my stiff, tear-covered face into my salty smelling pillow. I must've stayed awake pretty late, 'cause it's still damp.

Unlike what others think, my first thoughts of a new day aren't what kind of ramen I will eat, or what prank I will decide to inflict upon my newly chosen victim.

My day starts off with a light gray sky, where I don't care what colour it will become later on.

Where I don't care if the birds still sing, 'cause every note reminds me teasingly of what I never remember having, and never will.

Where I don't care for savouring the early morning silence, and also where I don't feel.

When I stuff away all of the dark and stabbing hurtfulness away, futilely hoping for the best: that it wont come crashing out at a bad time.

When I try to think of something happy, but only end up looking through empty cupboards of memories..

Such is my first thought of the day:

I grasp onto the desire for love like a drowning puppy onto it's saviour. I savour what I think it must feel, because now, there's no one to come and help me here, all alone in the cold.

_Un-noticed. _

My first thought often leads me ontto the second, where I bitterly shove it back too. Just like all of the other sadness.

The fact that I can't remember being hugged by my father, or held by my mother.

The fact that I can't remember what they sounded like, or where I lived.

Hell. I don't even know where I was born, so how should I know what my dead parents looked like?!

I feel a slight hysteria stir inside of my being, like a leaf does in the wind.

I try to dam the tears slipping from the corners of my eyes, running down my scarred cheeks, and pooling into the corner or my mouth and nose.

It never works.

Once the dam breaks, the water floods through, as salty as the bitter smile that wobbles off my face when my eyes clench shut tight.

A loosing situation.

And I'm the one loosing it...

Just like the _dobe _that they call me.

Hate mingles with the everlasting sadness in my chest. My eyebrows furrow at the thought of my classmates. Assholes.

All of them. Not me.

_**Them.**_

They are nothing more than bystanders to the eathrquake that shakes me, and slowly tears me apart. They do nothing to stop the hurt from raining down upon me, and they even add to the acid damage. The villagers know what they are doing, they **know!**

Yet nothing is being done to stop it. Nothing is being done to help.

_Un-salvaged._

If they ever bothered to understand what I went through every morning, repetitively. Every damn day of the week, month. Hell, even year.

I roughly wipe the salty teardrops away from my dirty face and sniff. Long and deep.

In..

Out..

I cannot do anything about this situation I am caged in, a never ending spiral.. Uzumaki. Just like my last name.

I don't even know if it was my fathers real name.

I can only beat my fists upon the solid, steel bars until they are raw and bloody from my hopeless efforts. Perhaps then they will notice me...

I am not a songbird that can cry out its pleading melody.

I am simply a caged child with a demon fox inside of him. I can only scream until my throat is raw.

I can only cry until my eyes run out of tears..

And then,

I can only hope that oblivion will hear my plea,

Notice me..

I can only pray that it will come and take me, put me..

Far, far away....

_Un-deluded delirium:_

_Rest._


	3. Under These Pine Trees

Under These Pine Trees, Under This Sun

It has been a long, long day. And a very tireful one too..

As I lay in my favourite field of tall grass with my hands stretched behind my head, I sigh.

My eyes droop shut and I sigh again, feeling as washed out as a wrung ball of wet clothing come straight from the wash. As wrung out as when I came back from school, those every days of my life.. With not one exception.

I'm only human, and although you don't know it, what more do you want?

Me, **_dead._**

So you're gonna take that half dried, tearstained bundle of cloth and shred it apart, are you?

And how in seven hells do you plan to do it _better_ than you have already!

I'm getting hysterical. I should calm down..

After all, they wouldn't want to see a crazy, sobbing monster come rushing back to mummy, _would_ they?

Not that that would ever happen anyways, 'cause I dont' have a mummy.

I don't have no daddy or sisters or little brothers to take care of.

I would've killed them all anyways...

I'm getting drowsy, my thoughts start to slur..

I shouldn't let myself sleep,

Who knows what- could- h-a-p- p- e- n...

_Screams and darkness. _

_Is this a memory? _

_Mine, or Kyuubi's?_

_An occasional flash of light in this thick, encompassing darkness. I want to get out, but there is no floor, and there is no ladder. This is reality in a dream._

_My heart is lost, and my tears are bottled. Not worth much.._

_I'm five years old again, still too short for my age, maybe it's 'cause I didn't get food most nights. And scavenging didn't taste so good too.. You get hit by them chasing you away. It hurt._

_I don't know why no body didnt' notice the rips in my shirt, or the missmatched socks.._

_Or the dirt in my hair, or the blood under my nails, or my stained, shiny cheeks, or.._

_Whatever. _

_I've run out of tears._

_I've forgotten what a smile is, now that I've forgotten what innocence is._

_Monster. Freak. Uslesslying** AAAGH!**_

_They told me._

_A change in the desparing black, I frown. _

_Why the change?_

_Wondering why black always represents desesperation in stories.. _

_Serenity it is too. _

_A double edged blade, _

_Just like silence._

_One: Peace, quiet of thoughts,_

_Two: The heavy, pit-in-the-stomach, freezing of death._

_Icicles fade, _

_I feel fur._

_Is this my mother, or Kyuubi's, I wonder, as a soft flutey melody mingles with singing._

_A woman's voice. _

_Mum?_

_Baby's gurgles, a child laughs,_

_Fabric rusltes. _

_A tinkling, sunny laugh, serenity lies in white this time._

_Perhaps it was the colour of her dress._

_No one ever told me if she was a fairytale._

_A cheep sounds with the gurgling of the spring brook,_

_I feel the stiffness of the warmth on my face,_

_I try not to remember that I am waking up._

I slowly lie there, as water trickles into my ears, pearling in my daffodil coloured eyelashes.

It always tastes of salt, but this time,

This time...

Water has bubbled into my living heart.

I am alive..

_Under These Pine Trees,_

_Under This Sun,_

_Understanding of all,_

_Unity for one._


	4. Crimson In a Blue Ocean

Crimson In A Blue Ocean

Here I am, under these pine trees, laying and wondering when... if the sun will set, while fluffy sheep-clouds and winds whisper a waltz in the blue sky.

I hear my ragged breath dry my mouth, cracking my lips, and I hear the echoes of my thumping heartbeat, filling my whole body, echoing in my head, accentuating the bedamned pounding I feel. I gasp for more air, my orange outfit itchy and uncomfortable on me while I lay on the ground after such a hard work out.

I needed to get the rage out of me, working it out, punch after punch after kick.

And then I shattered the log with a charka reinforced kick, finally exhausting my reserves, tears and sweat mingling, only to drip slowly to the floor.

I can still follow it with my eyes,

I hear the tiny noise,

And I watch.

Watch the ground absorb

Precious life.

My cuts and scrapes have been healed by Kyuubi, but what is inside is impossible to fix.

_And I'm dripping poison on the pieces of my heart._

Too bad rain is the only thing that covers up tears,

For my mask has been cracked.

Yet again..

And people are supposed to tell me that staying out in the cold rainwater will make me catch a cold, but no matter how long I stand, sopping wet, nothing changes.

I can only remember being ill once,

My forehead burning for release,

Gibbreish running through my mind.

Unable to think.

_Forgive me Father,_

_For I have sinned._

_When anger is too concentrated for me to dilute.._

And when the drop of crimson poison bleaches and spreads through the colour of my "innocent" eyes,

I am lost.

It is another mask..

_Just more violent than the last.._

But sometimes,

It is anger that motivates me to do more than last,

Anger that fuels my desire to be first.

Anger that slaps away those hurtfull, lashing tongues.

I cannot bleed this poison out of my limbs,

With nine-tails heals it so fast..

So I keep on going.

Like I always do.

And I try to clear a way through those obstacles crowding my view,

'Cause there's only a straight road to one's goal,

To the point you see.

_Climbing the mountain, _

_Never coming down._

_Break into the contents,_

_Never falling down._

And now I pick my limp body off the dusty trainging ground floor.

I will not lie,

I will not fall,

I will not cry.

I will not fail.

_**I will not give up!**_

_And so I cannot cry, _

_For I am exhausted._

_And yet still poison drips,_

_And my heart aches for something._

_Something I do not yet truly understand._

_So I keep on going onwards,_

_Climbing this mountain of mine._


	5. Only a Child

Life Is But A Dream

I play with my battered pencil, being careful not to break it. It is my last one, and breaking it would mean that I have to go and buy a new red pencil. I don't want to brave all of those people in the streets. Watching them from the height of my dirty bedroom window feels safer. They don't see me  
_Always from afar._

_Watching, invisible._

So I play with my battered, red pencil, always careful not to drop it. We are in class, and even though most of them are louder than I am, Iruka could notice. He would make me look even more like the fool people think, and I would play along. That's the way it goes.  
_Silly fool._

_ Always acting, always constant._

Red, octagonal.. Roll forward, roll back.

Battered, tired. Tilt forward, tilt back.

I tap the black end of the pencil on the equally tired and dented desk in front of me, my eyes glancing dreamily at the white chalk diagrams that cover the blackboard behind Iruka's desk, and then at the white framed window. The paint's peeling, but no one's really going to be bothered about it anyway. What's more interesting however, is the blue escape lying beyond the shuttered glass. Beyond the smaller trees and far, far away.

_  
Dreamland: Escape._

I gently put the little red pencil down onto the graffiti'd desk and rest my head onto my folded arms. Not much of a pillow, but it'll do.

My eyes gaze around me. There's a student sleeping peacefully on the end of the desk row in front of me. He looks as if he were about to fall off his seat. There's also another student drawing a something into a little note pad on her lap. And another reading a little pocket book about who knows what. I certainly don't.

I look at the blackboard again. Ah. Anbu team tactics. This is the third time in the month that Iruka is making us go over the same exact thing. I find this to be boring. The only thing I have problems with is charka.  
_Red, blue, purple._

_ A rainbow I never wanted to see._

But I've still got to keep acting like a fool. Perhaps Iruka knows it too…

My eyes close briefly as I enjoy the silence behind my eyelids. Black, so dark.

Warmth.

_ "Who cares, anyway?"_

I see a flash of colours.  
Like thousands of kaleidoscope butterflies,  
All in my head..  
Perhaps this is a small measure of peace and understanding?  
A thing I never found.  
Not even in music,  
So sweet,  
But no one was there to comfort me,  
No one to teach me.  
Life was just like a dream, you know,  
Never ending.

_I am cradling a greenish light in my hand, A kunai held within the light. Why?  
__But drops fall, I don't know whether I'm crying or whether it's raining.._

_ Sudden…_

_Pine trees in a mossy clearing,  
__Blue sky,  
__Walking on water with my light preciously held in my cupped hands.  
__I am focusing so hard the world doesn't exist any more. _

_The tree branch is my seat now,  
__As I cradle my little light in the nightly stars.  
__I target something…_

_There!_

_  
The red butterfly. A shooting star. Fern and tree bark…_

_ Red; anger or love?_

_ What has been forgotten?  
_

All red.

No clear.  
No black and no white. No gray.

_ Slit pupil._

_ A rush of anger._

I fall-

-and land with a thud and a wince in between the bench and the desk, one arm clutched around my sore ribs. Someone has pushed me, and Iruka has noticed. Back to the routine. All acting, no heart.

_  
He knows he is angry, I know I am only awake._

The class has fallen silent, waiting for the eventual reprimand.

_  
He is disappointed, I'm only looking bewildered._

It does.

No. I couldn't answer. It's all an act, stupid.

_ Dobe!_

_ Looser!_

**  
Demon, perhaps…**

I sit back down at my desk and pick up my little red pencil. Class will continue, and I will add a scribble onto it's dented surface:

A circle.

My blunt lead starts tracing it over and over, pushing into the wood, tracing its path. My knuckles are white.

No black and white,  
No end or beginning.

_  
Maybe Illusion,  
__Silence reigns only within me,  
__When I wish life was a dream.  
__There are ups and downs, far too many  
__But it was never fair to begin with._

**  
But only Child.**


	6. Mountain Mine

Mountain Mine

Quiet reflection follows me now, calming my blood and heart as I sit upon the old, rough stone Hokage monument, contemplating the far-reaching landscape that lies stretched out below my feet. It seems somewhat childish to see the town below me and feel powerful, as if I were king of the sand castle in the playground again. And this time, there is no person around me that could possibly stamp his or her sandaled feet on top of my tiny, proud sandcastle. My lips curve into a lopsided, wry smile at my childish thoughts. It is fun to reminisce.

_  
But it would be lies to say that it hurts no one to still think back to what is past._

_  
However,  
__Mistakes can be learnt,  
__Yet epiphany seldom comes._

I do not want to stand up and stretch out like I usually do, chasing away the cramps that result from sitting for so long. I still want to see the quiet night sky and it's collection of stars, contrasting with the nightlife of the city awakening slowly for another round. Pubs and stands, some more or less respectable than others slowly coming alight with neon and electricity. So I stay seated, watching my home pensively from my perch.

Konoha also contrasts loudly with the forest surrounding it.  
It's a City_, hidden in the leaves._

I distantly wonder if I too am hiding somewhere, but what is there to hide behind over here? Bare rock and sparse parches of grass are dotted here and there, and I'm on the very edge of the monument, by the sculpture of Tsunade's head. It still isn't quite finished, not quite come to life..

_  
Perhaps she will outlast the Third?  
__I am doubtful, torn between two poles._

The other sculptures stare blindly ahead into the distance, watching over their city. The one they lived and died for. Distant snatches of noise reach my sharp ears, pulled towards me by the buffeting wind. My hair dances and sways, unrestrained; my _hitai-ate _lies next to me, my hand covering it protectively. The metal is cold, and my fingers feel just the same, but I know the metal underneath my hand will be warm. Strange, isn't it?

I shiver, my zipper clinking a gentle sound. Perhaps I should get moving.. Someone might worry if I am gone too long. If Iruka had realized where I had been hiding- no away at for so long, he certainly would worry. And besides, steamy-hot ramen sounds pretty good right about now. I am relaxed, and although my extremities are numb, I feel warm, somewhere…

__

Perhaps it is because I have accepted something.

And although people say that you feel better when you talk about it, I have not done anything but sit and think and remember, up on the old Hokage monument, my hair whipped away from my face by the wind.

I have done nothing physical, proved nothing to no one, and yet…

I once read in a book a wise saying. A saying that said that a king shouldn't need to show off his power at every opportunity. That this king should in fact hide that he is the ruler, and let the people approach him, to know him for what he really is.

_  
Have I done that? _I ask myself, _Could I possibly be that king, or am I just kidding myself again, putting too much sand on my tiny sandcastle, adding more than what it is worth?_

_ But also, haven't I been looking for the meaningless adoration I see everywhere, people lying to prove an empty point, fake niceness? _I sit and ponder, letting the sun -still high in the sky- warm me up.

_ Perhaps I should ignore what the common have said, that fame and adoration are things to be found wanting… Perhaps I should, instead of looking above the shallow surface, sink into these seldom-seen windows and look for that quiet respect. The one nobody notices. _

I smile quietly, barely noticing the cold wind anymore. It is time to go now, I think. Time to go and look for my own path. One that I shall sweat and cry and bleed for.. One that I already have done.

I stretch, hearing my spine creak. I feel old, but now it is time to get down from this mountain. It is time to go home to my little apartment and the ramen stand, leaving behind _-but not forgetting-_ thoughts of my little, tiny sandcastle.

_  
Remember that mistakes can be learnt from,  
__That the previous thought still offers thinking,  
__And that no matter what,  
__Forward is just another name for living life._

_  
Be Proud, soldier,  
__Seek Peace._

__

Honor.


	7. Masked Fighter

Masked Fighter

There are educated times where I will find a quiet spot. One away from the bustle of these busy alleys and rattling chimneys and rooftops, away from this city that glows with this life and energy. In these times, I must find a way to loose myself from even myself, away from my speeding thoughts.

_ My head pounds, my body tingles, I cannot think any more. I yearn for silence, to yell, and obtain an abrupt ocean of emptiness. Maybe it is illusion, but the pain makes it all too real: a throbbing pulse, much like a heart beat, but one that doesn't give life.. My thoughts are jumbled, and my breath comes short. I will try to slow it, loose myself into the emptiness that I desire, slowly loosing consciousness. An ocean of black, covering me, stifling, yet comforting. _

There are times of turmoil where my vacant mind must find an empty place, otherwise fearing the end of something: the build up of pressure. This is when I must find a place to meditate, to find my inner peace, or just to loose these explosive thoughts to the ever changing wind of the fields and forests.

_ I dream of a blue sky. I am alone, and surrounded by only air and wind, yet my back is protected. There is no need for armour, or sitting against a tree trunk to make sure I won't be stabbed in the back. My eyes are closed, yet I feel as if I could see a vast expanse of nature and it's scenery, picturing it as a bird might, surveying it's majestic expanse, one of green. The sun shines high, the clouds stretch across the fabric of time and space… I dream._

Then, there are also times where I will find repose in thinking of my own life and person, but without being selfish. I appear (though I am not sure..) to understand the character that makes myself myself, if you understand what I mean…And this is simply because of the fact that I am the one who has created this facet of my identity, I am the one who has made myself.

_ Have people not noticed the twitches and pauses at times that would've surely given me away, or have they just dismissed it as unimportant? Have they just forgotten me? Or have I changed that much that I have faded into the background, away from these staring eyes. Have I become that diluted, loosing my flavour. Perhaps it is for the better… Because now they won't notice me…?_

Although I often find myself analysing my comrades and acquaintances, there is always a limit that divides my thought into making up different stories in order to explain what I am pondering about. And this is why I find that my limited understanding of myself is much deeper than that of the people I live my daily life with.  
It is a rather puzzling dilemma.

_ A tiny twitch on my lips betrays the lopsided grin threatening to curve on my lips, contrasting with my cold blue eyes as I watch what goes on around me. It is funny that they do not bother me by following me to my daily target practice, or when I go to the hot springs that I found to do some water-walking. It is funny that they aren't more curious about my life, how I live, and the way I live it. I bump into someone, keeping my pace steady, my shaded, glazed-over eyes lost in the distance of the crowded street. Perhaps they think that it is none of their business… And I don't know whether I should agree or not.. _

And what I find amusing, is that people still call me stupid, or, idiot, or, that loudmouth, or all of the above combined. Which is why I laugh at them underneath my already happy face. They don't notice anything, and that is why I find it so funny. They haven't noticed that I can relate to them, find out that all their little secrets have been far exceeded by my own, and that what they think is me, isn't me.

_ I laugh, the bitter sound of my demise hidden by happy, stifled giggles. My hair flies in the wind as I slash with kunai at the slowly falling autumn leaves blown away in the sudden cool gust of wind. I am fast. As fast as the wind. I will catch all of them sliced before they reach the ground. It is fun, feeling that sentiment of exhilaration rushing though me, my veins, and my blood as the world happens to turn so slow. I am free…Free from all boundaries presented and penetrated. I have left the lagging world behind in numbers: I have seen. I am free. _

There are times of excitement and times of sadness,  
Times of movement and times of stillness.  
I am me, forever unrestrained by no one but myself.  
And yet there are times,  
when it _hurts.  
_But why?


End file.
